Firebase Ghost Lodge occupies a precarious point deep in Southeast Asia, a jungle hell full of Malcontent Zentraedi and anti Unification Rebels. When a recon team encounters an unexpected enemy, it sparks a powderkeg of rebellion and political tension.

I don't own Macross. If I did, I would be far too
rich to be bothered writing fan fiction.

Prologue

Trailing mists like some great bird, the VF-1A
Valkyrie cut cleanly through the cloud cover and into the
clear air below. The sun was just rising behind Seraph 210,
burning across Sora's shoulder and illuminating the black
and white Valkyrie. Far below her feet, through the wonders
of the holographic cockpit, Sora could see the jungle of
Viet Nam, mostly untouched by the Zentraedi holocaust. Not
completely untouched; the city of Ban Me Thuot, forty miles
ahead of the pair of fighters, had been lasered from orbit,
and a Zentraedi Destroyer had crashed into the heart of the
city. Nothing grew for miles around the impact site, even
though the city had been abandoned; the toxic fallout from
the ship's engines had poisoned the very ground for many
miles about.

The earpiece in her helmet crackled. "Come
right to three-five-four for ten seventy, ascend to Angels
twenty."

She checked her nav computer, and sighed; a return
heading to the base at Haiphong. Pity; she loved flying,
even a simple patrol, and she was unfortunate enough to have
a group commander who knew it. Unfortunate, because the
CAG's favourite punishment, whenever Sora was in hack, was
to ground her. She started to think the jet through the
turn, then paused as her radar pinged at her.

"Hold on, Lieutenant." She adjusted the
set, and frowned. "Two contacts, sir. Bearing
two-six-five for fifty, down in the clutter."

"I've got nothing on passive." Protocol
for this sort of patrol called for the wing commander to run
with his radar on standby; this made little sense when the
wing commander was driving a VF-1S, with its powerful sensor
system. But nobody said that the rules had to make
sense.

"Hold on, running IFF..." She thumbed the
button on the throttle, and her radar transmitted an IFF -
Interrogation Friend or Foe - request. IFF was a little more
advanced than it had been last time there had been an air
war here; even a civilian aircraft whould respond with its
transponder code, and there were no hostile aircraft in the
region.

No response was forthcoming this time. She scowled,
and thumbed it again. "Sir, I'm getting no
response." She checked the radar again, but the A's
system could only give bearing and distance, and a rough
guess at velocity and direction of travel. "I've got no
reliable velocity figure, but their bearing appears to be
about forty degrees northeast."

"Probably just some civvies in a prop
job."

"I don't think so, sir. Rate of climb is
measurable, and it wouldn't be on a civilian prop
aircraft."

The Lieutenant sighed. "You just want to have
an excuse to continue flying. All right, Hasukawa, we'll go
check out your contacts."

"Vector two-seven-zero at six hundred for
intercept, sir." Sora advanced her throttles and pulled
her jet slightly to the left. "I'd advise you to go
active, sir."

"Good idea." Her RWR beeped quietly as
the more powerful radar on the VF-1S came online. "Got
them now...they're just above supersonic. Skin paint says
VF-1, but the computer's not 100% certain." There was a
click, then he said, "Sora, get within five and give me
a visual. I'll backstop you."

"IFF cannot confirm or deny friendly aircraft,
sir."

"Master arm is on."

Sora threw the throttle all the way forward, past
the afterburner detente. The engines roared, as the
"afterburner" began dumping water into the thermal
stream of the FF-2001 fusion engines, producing a blast of
plasma. The fighter leaped forward, and Sora could almost
imagine it was a state of the art machine, rather than the
fifteen-year-old relic that it was.

"Visual contact, sir." She rolled the
fighter inverted, so she didn't have to rely on the
holographics. "Not VF-1 types at all; some atmospheric
fighter, probably Eagles or Flankers. They're pretty
big." She frowned, and rolled her ship upright.
"Aspect change on them...I think they're getting
curious."

"Back off, Hasukawa."

"Roger, sir--"

The RWR went nuts, giving off the high-pitched
warbling noise of an active radar homing missile. Her eyes
widened. "Missile!"

"Confirm. I'm jamming. Return
fire."

Her hand flew across to the master arm ring and
depressed it, cranked it, and let it pop back up.
"Weapons hot." She spun the weapon selector,
located on the throttle just under her thumb, until it
rested on Point Five, the laser turret. She pickled her
thumb button once, and the laser came on line.

She glanced through the holographic floor at the
incoming missile, and pickled again. A burst of laser fire
slagged down the missile.

"Missile is down."

She pulled on the stick, bringing the fighter
around on the bandit. The fighter reconfigured as she
maneuvered, the engine booms swinging outward to sharpen the
turn. She never had to use the reconfiguration levers
anymore; the Valkyrie could read her mind, through the
sensor-studded helmet and gloves, and act on her very
whim.

She dropped in behind the bandit, and rolled the
weapon selector switch to Point One. The warbling tone of a
locked-on heatseeker filled her ear, and she squeezed the
weapon release trigger.

"Fox one!"

Th missile was homing, hot and true...but to her
shock, the fighter ahead merely reconfigured, reshaping
itself into robotic form, and hosed down the missile with
its cannon, now held as a rifle.

"Lead, target is a variable!"

"Confirm. Get the hell out of
there!"

She pulled up, but the reconfigured bandit
continued firing the rifle/cannon at her, and she screamed
as the fighter started to come apart around her.

"Two's hit!" She glanced over at her
engine controls. "Starboard engine's out, and I'm
losing power on port." She fired two more missiles at
the bandit in front of her, then jettisoned the rack.
"Jettisoned...still losing power. I'm punching
out!"

She reached down between her knees, to the ejector
handles, and gripped them firmly. She hesitated long enough
to mutter, "Good riddance", and pulled them
sharply. There was a series of sharp cracks, as the canopy
was blown away, and then she lost consciousness as the blast
of the ejector seat catapulted her out of the doomed Seraph
210 and into the air.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.